Fortune Favors the Bold
by lp2k
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn crave each other, in dreams and in reality. Aragorn is entangled with Boromir, but sometimes things happen during the long night watches. Set at the journey's beginning, after the Council.
1. Chapter 1

a/n: So, if you have constructive comments, feel free to review. Also if you have blatant praise. If you wish to comment on the slashiness and how it violates whatever moral code you favor, I guess I can't stop you, but it's your own damn fault for reading this in the first place. I don't own any of these characters, nor do I make any money from this.

...as Legolas closed his eyes in longing, the other Man's arms came around him, strong and possessive. Aragorn's lips brushed his own softly, and as Legolas pressed himself against Aragorn, who was already hard with desire, the Man moved one hand to push between them, finding the hardness between the other's legs. He began to stroke, and so tense was Legolas with arousal that he came after only a few of Aragorn's rough strokes, spilling himself over Aragorn's hand, and down both their legs...

Legolas started, and sat up with a sigh, glancing around to see if he had been noticed. Thankfully, he remembered that Merry and Pippin had the second watch together that night, and Legolas suspected that the two young Hobbits would be absorbed in quiet conversation. Pippin was always full of questions, but also rather intimidated by the others in the Fellowship, so the task of satisfying his curiosity usually fell to Merry.

Legolas saw the two Hobbits sitting near the fire, with heads bent together in discussion. He reached for his pack, and drew out a bit of cloth, which he used to clean himself as best he could. The Elf laid back down, and tried to still his mind, but the remaining stickiness between his legs combined with the tension in his mind, and made him unbearably restless. He rose, wrapping a blanket around himself to conceal his difficulties, and made for the stream they had camped near, passing a few words with the Hobbits on his way.

As he walked toward the stream, Legolas felt inexplicably relieved to be away from the camp, from Aragorn. Legolas admitted to himself that he had been driven nearly mad with desire for Aragorn since he had seen him at the Council, but he had not acknowledged it to Aragorn, or to Gimli who had questioned him about it. He had wanted him, wanted him with a desperation he had very rarely experienced in his long life, but he had not chosen to be truthful, to confront Aragorn with the fact and let him make his own decision. He had said nothing, betrayed no emotion, taken no action; he had defaulted, and the inevitable consequence had come. If one said nothing, if one refused to offer oneself, Legolas reflected, then one had no grounds for complaint when one was ignored.

Aragorn had made his choice, had selected his companion from among the Fellowship, and Legolas had forced himself to accept the decision. And to all appearances he *had* accepted it, except that the Man still haunted Legolas, still occupied his mind all night, still caused these humiliating incidents. Legolas had felt desire before, and even love, but never had it invaded his mind and soul in this way. Never had he been unable to tear himself away from the fantasy of being held and taken...

*****  
... taken... pushed down swiftly onto his knees, as Aragorn grabbed his long blond hair and pulled Legolas' head back. 'Well, little Elf?' Aragorn's voice was husky and low, intoxicating. Legolas reached up with trembling fingers to unfasten the Man's belt and pants, and when Aragorn's erection sprang free, the Elf looked up at him with large, uncertain eyes. 'Now,' Aragorn commanded, and without waiting for Legolas to respond, he pushed himself against the Elf's delicate lips, which immediately parted for him. As Aragorn, desperate for release, thrust roughly, unheeding, into Legolas' soft mouth, the Elf felt himself becoming hard again; the Man came after just a few more thrusts, and as Legolas swallowed frantically he felt himself spilling down his own thighs. Even before Legolas' desperate thrusts had ceased, Aragorn had already pulled back from Legolas and was striding away, leaving Legolas trembling on the ground...

"What is this insanity?" Legolas questioned, looking down at himself in exasperation. He was becoming lost in this fantasy, forgetting himself and his actions; he had not even noticed that he was stroking himself until... well, until it was too late. He would have to start exercising more caution around the others; it would not do to let his state of mind be discovered by the Fellowship. As he reached the river, he removed his clothes, now somewhat soiled themselves, and plunged into the icy water. The shock to his senses overwhelmed him for a moment, and when he recovered himself, he was gratified to find that Aragorn had retreated to the back of his mind, for the time.

Legolas rinsed himself carefully, washing away every trace of what had occurred. He felt that the tension he had been carrying was temporarily lightened, and after he had dried himself and dressed, he felt able to return to the camp in peace. He greeted the Hobbits, and made for his bedding area, but he was arrested by the sight of Aragorn, sleeping peacefully, an expression of contentment on his face. The Elf's eyes wandered over Aragorn's body, his arms, his hand where it lay, just barely touching another darker, harder hand. Legolas looked at Aragorn's face, his hair, taking in the dark strands mingled with brighter, burnished blond hair.

He reflected that perhaps this was right, perhaps this was logical, that a Man such as Aragorn, if he were to find pleasure in another male at all, would choose someone like this, someone hard, rugged, unbending, ungiving. Perhaps Aragorn would never have been satisfied with Legolas' desperate and total surrender, his adoration. Perhaps Men, with their passionate souls, their violent blood and short lives, could belong only with each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Aragorn lay, silent and still, next to Boromir, but he did not sleep. As he had been for the last few nights, he had been awakened by odd sounds coming from Legolas' blankets, and tonight Legolas had even gotten up and wandered off -- down to the stream, Aragorn guessed. When the Elf had returned to the camp, Aragorn had closed his eyes, but he had still felt Legolas pause and watch himself and Boromir for a moment.

Relieved when Legolas passed on to his own blankets, Aragorn found himself reflecting on his decision, wondering -- what? If he could have chosen differently? If there had been some sign, some signal he had missed from the Elf, which would have allowed him to speak on the matter? He had watched -- yes, he had watched Legolas carefully, surreptitiously, since setting out from Rivendell. He had watched for the hints of hidden intimacy that always slip through, no matter how careful one is to hide one's emotions, when one is in love.

He had noticed no unusual behavior on Legolas' part, but then again, it was sometimes difficult for Aragorn to tell with Elves. Although he had been raised among them, he had never quite understood their knack for sudden closeness -- the way they always appeared completely remote, but could bridge the distance in an instant if they chose. For Elves, life seemed to consist mostly of solitude, and self-containment, punctuated by moments of almost alarming intimacy.

Legolas certainly had that knack down pat. Aragorn could not remember all the times he had been involved in a seemingly innocuous conversation with Legolas, only to turn and find the Elf staring into his eyes, as if trying to see past whatever words Aragorn was speaking, into his very soul. Although he had experienced the Elven tendency towards unexpected intimacy before, Aragorn could not recall ever having been regarded in quite so searching a way.

That gaze, that seeking for more, was the reason Aragorn had waited to make his decision. He and Boromir had gradually become friends on this journey, especially since their talk in the woods of Lorien, about Gondor and Minas Tirith. Seeing Boromir's love for his home and people had made Aragorn give up his hostility and competitiveness towards the other Man, and a genuine closeness had developed. Aragorn had known that Boromir was also feeling a deepening attachment to him, and he had welcomed the idea of having a more intimate companion on this frightening, terribly serious quest. And yet he had resisted making the ultimate decision, because of the Elf, and Boromir had waited, for he suspected what made Aragorn reluctant.

Aragorn did not wish to be unfair to Boromir. He was not without affection, even love for Boromir -- the other Man was courageous, and honorable by his own principles. Aragorn found comfort and familiarity in the Man's strength and ruggedness, and even in his violence. Boromir was made of soil and bronze, like Aragorn; in a way the Men suited each other. Elves were made of other stuff, stone and starlight and mithril. Aragorn should want to see Legolas on a pedestal, bathed in the beautiful light he deserved, but instead all he could think of when he saw the Elf was to throw him down into the dirt, tangling that long blond hair and bruising that pale, perfect skin. At times Aragorn was grateful that he lacked the courage to do such a thing, but he could not make himself feel guilty.

So Aragorn had watched, watched Legolas carefully, watched for some clear sign that what he would ask the Elf would be welcomed. And he had felt those moments of sudden closeness, when Legolas would stand too near, and look too searchingly into Aragorn's eyes. But there had to be more -- Aragorn was not willing to broach the subject without something else, some clear, if subtle, indication that Legolas felt for him any fraction of what Aragorn had felt for the Elf.

Because Aragorn had been fascinated with Legolas since the Council. For other Men it was easy to write off such fascination as a natural reaction to a race of such beauty and grace, so different from the earthy, dark race of Men. But Aragorn had been raised with Elves, and while not unaffected by their beauty, he could tell the difference between a general attraction to the race, and the specific interest he felt for Legolas.

Aragorn could recall, with crystal clarity, the moment at the Council when Legolas had leapt to his feet to defend Aragorn against Boromir's mockery. Legolas had said that Boromir owed Aragorn his allegiance; Aragorn had been seized with an abrupt, shockingly violent desire to -- well, to make the Elf prove his own allegiance to Aragorn. Looking back on it, Aragorn felt silly about his jealousy and possessiveness, but he could not forget the images that had flooded his mind when he saw Legolas' eyes blazing, saw his fine lips parted in Aragorn's defense. He had very nearly gone to Legolas that night...

*****  
Gone to his room in Elrond's house -- closed the door behind him, ignoring the surprised look on Legolas' face. Walked over to the Elf, pulled him close with one arm, pulled the delicate face up to meet his eyes. "And what about you, Legolas? Do I have your allegiance?" Legolas did not pull away, but stood straight in Aragorn grasp. "Yes, Aragorn," the Elf said, not breaking the intense eye contact for a second. Aragorn felt himself grow hard at Legolas' tone of arrogant surrender. It was as if Legolas knew exactly how far in the Man's power he was, yet also knew exactly why the Man had to come, had to demand control.

Legolas was still gazing steadily into Aragorn's eyes, and he felt the corners of his mouth begin to curl into a smirk. Before it turned into a full smile, Aragorn pulled the Elf closer, and bent his head to crush the fine lips with his own. Legolas moaned into the contact, softening his body against Aragorn's, writhing just a tiny bit under the Man's touch. Aragorn felt the Elf's growing hardness, and abruptly pulled away and half-tossed Legolas onto the bed behind him. Tugging at Legolas' leggings, he soon had them pushed out of the way, and he bent down to taste the hard flesh before unbuckling his own breeches, looking at Legolas meaningfully as he did. Legolas' eyes grew wide, but Aragorn saw his tongue slip out and moisten his lips, and knew that Legolas wanted what Aragorn had been fantasizing about all day.

When his clothes were gone, Aragorn pulled the Elf close, stroking and teasing him; he took a moment to savor the barely noticeable scent he always associated with woodland Elves -- a peculiar, not unpleasant mixture of warm skin and fresh leaves. Then, with no warning, Aragorn pushed himself into Legolas, slowly but inexorably, never pausing even when the Elf cried out softly. If Legolas had been in real pain Aragorn might have noticed, but he almost immediately relaxed into the rhythm Aragorn was setting, and Aragorn could not stop. Legolas felt so good around him that Aragorn wished he could prolong the moment, but he had been desperate for this Elf for far too long, and he found himself moving faster and faster, and Legolas was moaning, and soon just the knowledge of what he was doing, and with whom, was enough to send Aragorn over the precipice into frantic, unconscious, demanding thrusts. Dimly, he was aware of Legolas's voice rising, and Legolas' cock stiffening in his hand, and hot fluid flowing down both their stomachs, but until Aragorn's own thrusts had been exhausted he could not think clearly of anything else...

Aragorn came back to himself with a start. What was he doing, here next to Boromir, having this kind of uncontrolled fantasy about Legolas, whom he had chosen not to approach? What right did he have now to think about what might have happened that night, when he had instead gone to walk alone in the gardens? He had not acted then, nor on any night since. He had tried to convince himself that Legolas was keeping him at a distance, but in fact Aragorn knew he could have approached the Elf. It might have happened that Aragorn's feelings were returned, but even if Legolas felt nothing more than friendship for him, the Elf would not have been offended. He would not have scorned Aragorn's feelings, or laughed at them. Aragorn could practically visualize how serious Legolas would look, telling him that he appreciated Aragorn's attachment, that he considered Aragorn a valuable friend, that he was sorry not to be able to give Aragorn what he desired. Then, it would have been over. Aragorn knew that Legolas would not allow those feelings to harm their friendship.

Instead, the two had settled into a tense, slightly uncertain relationship. They did not speak to each other casually, but only when there was something important to discuss. It was worse than any other outcome Aragorn could imagine, because at the moment he not only had these uncomfortable emotions, but also was deprived of the comfort of Legolas' friendship. All because of his own lack of courage, his own inability to take the risk of disappointment, of rejection -- for it would be rejection, no matter how gently Legolas spoke.

Aragorn wiped himself off somewhat, still reproaching himself, and drifted into an unrestful sleep for the rest of the night. By morning he found himself curved warmly around Boromir's broad back, but he knew that it was not of bronze and earth that he had dreamt, but of alabaster and mithril, and the light scent of leaves.


End file.
